


Earn Your Happy Ending

by IfItHollers



Series: Exotic Birds Don't Tweet [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Drinking & Talking, First Kiss, M/M, References to The Talisman (1984), literary criticism and analysis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfItHollers/pseuds/IfItHollers
Summary: @chernobrough on Twitter said, "Idk if this is your style but maybe a  Hanbrough kiss?"Okay so for  me the thing that's most interesting about the Bill/Mike dynamic is that as a kid Bill is almost universally hero-worshipped by  his friends--but not by Mike, because when Mike's a kid, his biggest hero is his dad.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Series: Exotic Birds Don't Tweet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952635
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Earn Your Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadlight_s (scamsHan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scamsHan/gifts).



> This is a little [twitter drabble](https://twitter.com/IfItHollers/status/1243728574273613824?s=20) I posted back in March when I was taking prompts, and I've decided to start an AO3 series to store them. I've corrected some typos and expanded on some concepts (like Bill's fantasy novel) that there wasn't room for in the original format.

Okay so for me the thing that’s most interesting about the Bill/Mike dynamic is that as a kid Bill is almost universally hero-worshipped by his friends—but not by Mike, because when Mike’s a kid, his biggest hero is his dad.

So I think that as an adult, Bill still has some of that uncanny charisma—but everyone gives Bill shit throughout the movie about his endings, and I kind of like the idea of one day post-divorce Bill calling up Mike and him coming to visit and them with their whiskey. And Bill’s loose-lipped and telling Mike the story about that professor, you know, the “and everyone clapped” story from the book where Bill rejects the idea of critical analysis and just writes to write. They’re sitting in Bill’s study. Bill is at his desk and Mike is perched on the desktop. They’re drinking Crown Royal, which is too expensive for Mike to ever buy for himself. Bill says he bought it for a celebration but he can’t remember what the bottle commemorates.

And Bill says, “No, I understand critical analysis _after_ the fact, but I was like, twenty-two, I wasn’t gonna be all up my own ass about the symbolism from day one, what the fuck did I know about anything?” Nobody’s an _auteur_ in college. Nobody should be trying to be, anyway.

Mike has read all of Bill’s stuff, from that very first publication with Viking. So Mike says, “No, if you want to write from the starting position of ‘this is interesting to me, this makes me happy,’ that’s fine. That’s a good reason to write.”

But Bill hears the tone in Mike’s voice. “But what?” he prompts, grinning, knowing.

“But nothing,” Mike says. “Your horror’s good.”

“But.”

It’s really hard not to give in to Bill when he’s giving a cue like that. Maybe it’s a little bit of a hangover from that alien charisma that brought at least a portion of them down into the sewers, if they weren’t driven by their sense of what was right.

“But,” Mike says slowly, reluctantly, smiling and nodding over his whiskey glass because Bill knows him too, after all this time.

Bill leans back in his desk chair, grinning that _yeah, that’s what I thought_ grin and looking happy to get his way.

“The first story. _Stormcellar_.”

“Yes,” Bill says.

“It ends with the kid dying.”

Bill’s at least a little bit self-aware now, in huge part thanks to Mike himself. “Yeah,” he says.

“Because he’s Georgie.”

Bill’s voice is a little softer when he agrees with this next one. “Yeah.”

“All your stories have ended like that, man,” Mike says.

“No, they haven’t,” Bill says, brows crinkling up, voice incredulous.

“Yeah, they have.”

“No, it’s—the—the fantasy one, with Peter, that was different.”

He means the novel he put out in 2013—a low fantasy involving interdimensional travel called _Arcadia Beach_ , playing on English history, “Jack Names the Planets” by Ash, and Bill’s love of classic westerns, with a running through-line of a parent dying of cancer that had Mike’s heart in his throat the entire way through. There was Zack Denbrough in it, sure. There was also Will Hanlon. _People_ hated it. _Twilight Zone_ called it the year’s best novel.

Mike’s eyebrows go up. “Was it?”

“It so was,” Bill says. “It was a play on the classic tropes, the true king restored, it was like _Lord of the Rings_.”

Mike’s grin widens. “You think you’re out here writing Tolkien, man?”

Bill drinks more. “You know what I mean. It wasn’t—it wasn’t anyone, it was just an ending.”

Mike stares at him, thinking of young redheaded protagonist Peter, whose power rested on him being able to harness and speak the true names of things. It was derivative of Ursula Le Guin, but all Mike could think of as he read it was _he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts!_

“It was you.”

Bill lowers his glass and stares back at him across the study. “It wasn’t.”

“Bill, it definitely was,” Mike says. “You made yourself the true king character and you killed off every ally you had along the way, _except_ the advisor. The tall black advisor with the deep voice and the library, so like, thank you.” They’re going to have to have serious talks about Bill’s portrayal of black sidekicks at a later date, but Mike actually liked Chancellor Loubird. The name made him laugh.

Bill’s face crinkles. “I didn’t remember you. And—I didn’t know you had a library.”

“Nah, but you came to my house, you remember Dad’s books.”

“I didn’t.”

“But you did,” Mike says with certainty. “On some level.”

Bill considers. If he truly hadn’t remembered anything from his entire childhood, maybe he wouldn’t be writing horror today. Maybe he wouldn’t be writing at all.

“Okay, so I’m a hack, you’ve made your point.”

To his surprise, Mike laughs. “That’s not my point/”

“It’s so your point—‘Bill’s never written an original character, never written an original ending’—”

Mike laughs again. “You’re projecting, man.”

Bill makes a sweeping gesture towards his study, towards his books lined up behind him, their spines never cracked. “It’s all projecting!”

“I mean, it’s definitely all projecting, I’ll give you that,” Mike says. “But I’m William Denbrough’s number-one fan, I’m not out here saying you’re a hack.”

Bill settles a little, smiling. “All right, all right, number one expert on me. What’s your point?

Mike looks down into his glass, at the whiskey stones shaped like skulls. Bill has these little jokes all over his house, these little nods to how he made his money.

“You have never written a happy ending,” Mike says. “Not once. Not for any of us.”

Bill considers, bows his head too slowly to be a nod, giving Mike his point. When he speaks it’s barely above a whisper. “Sometimes that’s the way things are.”

“Are they?” Mike asks. He waits until Bill lifts his head to look at him. “I mean, sometimes, sure. But every time?”

Bill smiles a little wider, lowering his gaze to his desk, the leather pad where his laptop rests. He drains his glass and sets it down. For a moment Mike thinks he’s gonna go for the bottle again and fill it up once more.

“What the fuck do I know about happy endings, Mikey?”

Mike laughs too loud in this room. Apparently it’s not the response Bill was expecting, because he looks up from his self-pity in something like surprise. Mike considers that maybe he’s had too much to drink and sets his own glass down, but he says, “Look around you, man.”

Because really! Look at Bill Denbrough’s life! Look at the places he’s gone, the name he’s made for himself, the worlds he’s built and dismantled in turn. If Bill has never found a happy ending for himself, that’s one thing, but it looks like he has plenty of opportunity to start.

“I’m not gonna tell you you’re being a dumb son of a bitch,” Mike says kindly, which makes Bill huff laughter.

“Yeah, you are,” Bill says, standing up. His chair wheels back into his bookcase and he braces himself on the desk, looking a little dazed.

Mike watches him, ready to catch him if he goes over. “You all right, man?”

“Great,” Bill says, reaching out for him, and Mike gets with the program and turns on the desk and spreads his knees and lets Bill lean up for him, gets his hand in his collar, kisses him. He tastes like whiskey and time and this big wood-polished room. Bill has an estate. Bill has money. Bill has all the time in the world.

They touch their lips together twice, three times, before Mike tightens his grip in Bill’s shirt and holds him back. “Okay, drunky Smurf.”

“Read my new shit,” Bill says into the space between their faces.

Mike chuckles. “I was gonna.”

“No. Like, read it now. Before anyone else. Tell me what’s good and what sucks. I don’t know how to write happy endings.”

“Yeah, you do,” Mike says.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Arcadia Beach_ is this universe's answer to _The Talisman_ by Stephen King and Peter Straub--but because Bill Denbrough is more an author avatar for Peter Straub than for King himself, and they're 2 different generations, Bill's protagonist is just named Peter. Chancellor Loubird is named after Mike's uncle, who lived his whole life being called "Philly Lou Bird" by everyone including Mike's weird little friends--not that Bill remembers that. Eventually Bill and Mike will work on the sequel, _French Landing_ , together.


End file.
